


Cordolium

by Caligacal



Series: Crudelis [2]
Category: JacksepticeyeRPF, MarkiplierRPF, SeptiplierRPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Cops vs Robbers, Detectives, Developing Relationship, Fear, Hallucinations, Hate, M/M, Regret, Self-Harm, Sequel, Uncertainty, criminals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-20 16:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11924769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caligacal/pseuds/Caligacal
Summary: After X and his gang are shut down, things start to look up for Detective Mark Fischbach and his new-found friend Sean McLoughlin. But a few things are still uncertain. Where's Daryl, and what's he up to? What ever happened to Felix and Cry? On top of those questions, Mark has plenty of his own. Jack has been acting a bit strange, and while it seems his company helps the Irishman, it doesn't seem to be enough. Their bond is becoming stronger, and there are rough waters ahead.Can the duo pull through one more time, or will it all end in heartbreak?(Previously titled Fallacia)





	1. Chapter 1

Bright sunlight filtered into the room, dosing the bed in a golden glare. Birds sang just outside in a nearby tree, twittering and greeting the sun. A few cars drove by, but went unheard by the sleeping figures in the bed.

Jack slowly began to wake up, mostly because the sun was shining right in his face. He took a deep breath before he yawned, and then he tried to open his eyes. The harsh light hurt something terrible, so he quickly gave up on opening his eyes and instead buried his face into the pillow with a huff. 

Suddenly there was a sigh, and Jack felt a warm breath tickle the back of his neck. He jumped, and then squeaked quietly when the two arms that had been looped lazily around his waist tightened and pulled him back. Jack’s face flushed a deep red when he suddenly found his back pressed against a firm chest. Another warm breath danced across his skin, and he shivered slightly.

He’d almost completely forgotten about Mark. 

The detective was still lying right behind him, those strong arms wrapped tight around his waist. He’d kept his promise, he stayed the entire night. And he was still sleeping soundly. 

How late was Mark up just watching him? Did he fall asleep soon after Jack did, or had he stayed up to make sure Jack would stay asleep? 

Mark shifted in his sleep and buried his face in the crook of Jack’s neck, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin. The Irishman tensed, his face turning a deep shade of red. Mark sighed and muttered something under his breath, and was still. 

Jack swallowed nervously and licked his lips. “Mark?” he whispered, trying to see if the detective was awake yet. 

Nothing, not a peep. 

Rolling his eyes, Jack tried to wiggle out of Mark’s grasp. He promised he’d make pancakes if Mark stayed, plus he had to use the restroom. Mark drew in a sharp breath and only tightened his grip.

At that Jack couldn’t help but think back to the first time the same thing happened. Mark had been in bad shape, yet he still managed to make an escape from his arms impossible. And now he was perfectly fine, no wounds to slow him down.

_Fuck._

He’d have to wake him. There was no other way of getting out of those vice-like arms. 

Jack let out a breath and tried to roll over. It took quite a bit of wiggling, but he managed to get turned around so that he was facing Mark. What he came face-to-face with was something he wasn’t expecting. 

The bastard was already awake.

All Jack could do was stare with wide eyes and a reddening face. Mark gazed back at him with a lazy smirk and half-lidded eyes. He hadn’t been awake very long. His black hair was disheveled, some of it hiding his left eye. Jack’s heart flipped when the detective chuckled.

“Mornin’.”

_Fuck, his voice, holy shit._

It was gravelly and deep, rough from sleep no doubt. 

Jack tried forget about the fact that their noses were almost touching as he stuttered out a reply.

“M-Mornin’ to you too.”

Mark chuckled again and finally released Jack’s waist. Internally Jack whined, already missing the embrace. The detective propped his head up on a fist while resting his other arm across his own waist. Jack couldn’t help but notice how relaxed he looked. 

“So,” Mark started, his face settling into a serious look. “How’d ya sleep?”

Jack took the opportunity of freedom to sit up and stretch his arms above his head. His spine popped several times and he sighed in content. 

“Really good. Amazing actually.”

Mark nodded and rolled over onto his back. “Glad to hear it.”

The Irishman chuckled and watched him for a moment. Mark glanced at him and raised a questioning brow.

“It’s all thanks to you y’know,” Jack said quietly. “And not just letting me get a few hours of proper sleep, I mean everything.”

With a small smile Mark shook his head and threw back the covers to sit up. “Not true Jackaboy. You helped yourself plenty too.”

Jack scoffed and got out of bed, making a beeline for the bathroom. “Whatever you say Fischbach,” he tossed over his shoulder. With a chuckle to himself he went across the hall and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

 

About fifteen minutes later, Jack stood in his kitchen fully dressed, humming quietly to himself as he mixed a bowl of ingredients. Mark had gone into the bathroom to shower a few minutes ago, leaving Jack to his thoughts and pancake preparation.

As Jack turned to search for a measuring cup, he heard the shower stop and the curtain rustle. Mark was done with his shower.

Motivated to have at least one pancake done by the time Mark was dressed, Jack kicked it up a notch and got to work.

 

Mark stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed in his clothes from the day before. They were a little smelly, since he’d slept in them as well, but it wasn't anything a little deodorant couldn't fix. 

He peeked across the hall, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. Jack wasn't in his room, so he looked to the kitchen for the Irishman.

And there he was, not having seen the detective enter. Mark couldn't help but grin. Jack was standing over a sizzling griddle, spatula at the ready. His face was a mask of concentration as he stared at the lightly bubbling pool of batter. 

Mark chuckled quietly to himself and leaned against the corner of the wall, draping his damp towel around his shoulders. He kept his eyes on the focused Irishman, and crossed his arms as he watched.

After about thirty seconds of just staring at the cooking batter, Jack quickly swooped down on the unsuspecting treat. He expertly slid the spatula under the pancake and flipped it. It made a _splat_ , and Jack put on a triumphant smirk. He cocked a hip and held the spatula in a sassy manner as he glared the pancake down.

Mark couldn't help himself. It was just too funny, and oddly adorable. The detective managed to hold back a full-blown bellow, but a rather loud chuckle did escape.  
Jack jumped and looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide and curious.

Mark froze.

He was just too damn adorable, looking at him like that. Those blue eyes, clear and large, seemed to look right into his soul. His mouth was slightly pinched, and there was a slight dusting of pink on his cheeks from embarrassment. 

Jack blinked and turned to face the detective. He smiled fully and crossed his arms.

“Something the matter Mark? You're staring.” 

Mark flinched and cleared his throat. “No, nope, nothing wrong here.” He straightened and pulled his towel from his shoulders. 

Jack eyed him for a moment before turning back to his pancakes. “There's a few ready over here. Grab yourself a plate, syrup’s in the cupboard.”

Again Mark cleared his throat and made his way into the kitchen. Jack stepped out of his way, and for a brief moment they brushed arms. Mark stiffened while Jack jumped. They made brief eye contact before looking away and blushing madly.

 

Mark served himself a stack of three pancakes drizzled with maple syrup. He sat himself down at the table and buried himself in the meal. After a few minutes Jack sat down across from him, his own giant stack of pancakes on his plate. Mark glanced up at him before resuming in eating.

“I'm glad you kept this promise,” Mark said around a mouthful. “These are amazing.”

Jack flushed and kept his eyes on his own plate. “Thanks. It's my Ma’s recipe.”

Mark nodded and said nothing more.

A comfortable silence hung in the air, and they finished out their meal in peace.


	2. Chapter 2

Breakfast was quiet and cozy. 

Mark still sat at the table. He took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, puffing out his cheeks and sticking out his stomach. _I might have eaten one too many pancakes._ His stomach felt like it would burst any moment. 

Jack stood at the sink, doing the dishes from the meal. He hand-washed everything, drying each item with a towel after all the suds were rinsed away.

Mark couldn’t help but admire him. The younger man had a slight smile on his face, and there was a slight rhythm to the way he moved, like he had a song stuck in his head. He looked happy, and content.

It seemed that a good night's sleep made the world of difference to Jack's attitude.

_I only hope I can help him stay this happy…_

“So,” Mark started, wiping at his lips to rid them of any stray crumbs or syrup. “What’re you up to nowadays?”

Jack gave a little shrug as he dried the last dish. “Not much,” he mumbled. His Irish accent was a little strong this morning. “Haven’t really been lookin’ for a job, just staying at home mostly.”

At that Mark became slightly worried. 

“Have you gone on any walks or anything? The leaves are starting to change color.”

Jack shook his head.

_So he hasn’t left his apartment at all? Not even to get groceries or anything?_

The detective sighed. “Well do you need groceries or anything?”

With a small sigh of his own Jack turned around and leaned against the counter. His eyes glanced at the cupboards and he shrugged again. 

“Yeah I’m a little low on stuff, but I’m fine for a while,” the Irishman murmured. He crossed his arms and looked to the floor. His face was set in a slightly serious scowl, and that happy glow was gone from his eyes. 

Mark ran a hand through his hair and stood up. _I need to get him out of the house, show him nothing’s going to happen once he’s out there._

“Let’s go then.”

Jack blinked and lifted his head to stare at him, “stunned” written all over his face. 

“What?”

“You heard me, let’s go! C’mon! Get your wallet and whatever else you need, we’re going shopping,” Mark exclaimed, striding to the door to retrieve his shoes.

“But-”

“No ‘buts’! We’re going!” Mark finished cramming his feet into his tennis shoes impatiently and rushed back over to Jack. He grabbed his arms and pulled him towards the door.

“Mark wait-”

“Nope! Let’s go!” The detective spotted Jack’s wallet resting on a small table by the door, and snatched it up. “Grab some shoes before I drag you out of here without some.”

Jack gave a funny face, like he was going to protest, but then he sighed, defeated. The Irishman quickly grabbed some converse and managed to slip them on before Mark claimed his wrist and hauled him out the door. 

“Wait my keys-!”

“I have your spare,” Mark said while shutting the door behind them. “Let’s go.”

And they made their way down the stairs, Mark almost literally dragging Jack behind him. 

 

The mall was crowded.

Way too crowded for Jack’s liking. 

He sat on a bench, holding onto a pretzel for dear life, while keeping his attention on his phone. The Irishman didn’t dare look up, in case someone recognized him from the whole “kidnapped detective” thing. Not only had his face been broadcast on the news when he snatched Mark, but also when he was arrested at the hospital and at his trial. His mugshot was not an unfamiliar sight on the news as of late. 

Jack took a bite of his pretzel (no time for that artificial cheesy goodness) and scrolled through Twitter. He never posted much on there, just a few quotes to himself and the few scam followers he had. The only people he really followed were celebrities he was fond of, mostly comedians.

 

As the people bustled by, talking about whatever it is they were talking about, Jack tuned them out. In fact he tuned out everything except his phone. He didn’t want to be bothered by the hustle of people around him, and he mostly wanted to try and ignore the nagging fear in the pit of his stomach. 

_He’s out there somewhere. Waiting, watching. Calculating every factor and variable so he can come to a conclusion about when the right time to strike is._ Jack subconsciously clenched his fist, smashing part of his pretzel. _And I know it too. I can feel it. Daryl’s not the type who just gives up on prey._

Jack took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then let it out slow. _Relax. He wouldn’t make a move in such a public place. His face is on wanted papers all over the city, and on the news. He couldn’t approach me here._

He took another bite of the pretzel, chewing slowly as he stared at his phone, not seeing it at all. 

But what if Daryl did? What if he simply wore a hat and glasses, some sort of disguise, to just walk over, grab his arm, whisper a threat, and walk him out of here? Without anyone knowing anything was amiss. It could happen. Hell it probably would happen!

 _I’ve gotta get home,_ Jack thought desperately. _Lock everything, keep all my devices shut off, shut myself down for a few days. Just to keep myself safe for a bit longer. I know he’ll find me eventually, but the longer I stall him, the better chance I have of surviving._

“You alright Jack?”

He flinched, jerking his head up to see who had addressed him. 

It was just Mark, who was giving him a concerned look while holding a bottled water and some bags.

The Irishman let out a breath through his nose and nodded, putting on a classic fake smile. “Yep. Just a bit tired.”

Mark’s brow furrowed with worry. “Really? Did you not sleep as well as you let on?”

“Ah no! No I slept great.” Jack quickly reassured him, not wanting Mark to feel like his actions were worthless. “Just, it’ll probably take a few more nights to get restored, y’know?”

The detective gave him a wary stare, studying him with those intense brown eyes. After a second or two he shrugged. 

“Well, let’s be sure you get another good night’s sleep tonight then, hm?” Mark smiled gently and handed the bottled water to Jack, who took it gingerly, his ears flushing hot. 

_He’s going to sleep over again, isn’t he?_

Jack shoved his phone back into his pocket as he set his pretzel aside. He cracked open the lid of the bottle with trembling hands. Tipping the bottle to his lips, he took a few sips. The cool water put his roiling stomach at ease. 

Feeling somewhat better, Jack smacked his lips as he recapped the bottle and offered it back to Mark. “Mm, good stuff.”

Mark chuckled and took the bottle gingerly, slipping it in one of the bags. He studied Jack for a second, then a large smile took over his face.

Jack gave him a questioning and wary look. “What are you thinking?”

The detective shook his head, that goofy smile still gracing his lips. “Nothing. What d’you think of your hair?”

Pausing, Jack gingerly rubbed his faded green hair between his fingers. He furrowed his brow as he glared at the pale strands. “I guess I could re-dye it. Looks kind of stupid like this.”

With a chirp of laughter, Mark reached out and grabbed Jack’s hand. Before Jack could protest, he pulled him off the bench. Jack barely had enough time to snatch his pretzel.

“M-Mark? What are-”

“Let’s go get your hair done.”

Jack blinked. Mark smirked and started walking towards the mall exit, tugging Jack along behind him. The Irishman shook off his shock and struggled to catch up to the fast-moving detective. Once he was finally at Mark’s side, he looked down at their intertwined hands. With him next to Mark now, there was no reason to hold hands. 

Yet neither of them made a move to disengage. 

A hot blush washed over Jack’s face. Slightly embarrassed, he kept his head down, eyes on the floor, and busied himself with nibbling on the pretzel. He prayed to god that Mark wouldn’t turn and see his red face.

And deep down he wished this day would never end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies this is so goddamn late! I'm a terrible college student, so consequently I was failing a few classes. But now that I got them all fixed, I'm back to writing regularly! So updates will be out way more often now :D


	3. Chapter 3

The park was nice. 

Both Mark and Jack strolled down one of the many sidewalks that weaved throughout the large, woody area. Every now and then Jack would run his fingers through his freshly dyed hair, obsessed with the softness that the salon shampoo always brought.

As they walked, Mark kept glancing over at his companion. The Irishman had chosen to re-dye his hair to his natural color, which really made his eyes pop. With the fall sunlight reflecting off the rich brown color, Jack’s hair gleamed, specks of gold occasionally catching Mark's eye.

They’d gotten coffee at a small cafe not far from the park, with it being such a beautiful day, Mark suggested that they go for a walk. 

 

Jack took a sip of his coffee and let his gaze wander. Since it was a Monday, not many people were around. A few teens sat on a bench, a middle-aged woman jogged past them, and an old man who fed the ducks and geese next to the pond smiled at the duo as they passed. Jack smiled back at him and gave a little wave. 

Mark glanced at the Irishman and grinned at his kind nature towards the man. With how Jack acted lately, no one would have ever believed he was a criminal just a few weeks ago. 

As they walked, they remained quiet. Mark took a swig of his coffee and watched a robin flit from one tree to another. Jack pulled his phone from his pocket and checked it for no reason before slipping it back in his jeans. They walked along for another minute or two before Mark sighed and looked at Jack. 

“So, what’s next for you?”

Jack blinked and glanced at Mark. Then he turned his gaze to the sidewalk and went to take a sip of his coffee. 

“I don’t know,” he murmured before placing the cup to his lips and taking a little drink. “I’ll get a job I guess. Save enough money to move somewhere else. Live a normal life.”

Mark nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I can help you look for a job if you’d like. I know of a couple cafes around town that need some help, a few diners too.”

With a shake of his head, Jack took another sip. “Mm, I appreciate it, but no thanks. I can’t ask any more of you. You’ve done so much already and-”

“Nonsense,” Mark cut in, not looking at the other man. “You can ask anything of me. I really don’t mind, Jack.”

Jack went to insist otherwise, yet he hesitated. Fighting this would be a lost cause. Mark was obviously set on helping him, and Jack was pretty sure there was no way to make him change his mind. 

Instead of resisting, Jack nodded. “Alright. But let me look on my own first.” He looked at Mark. “I want to help myself before I have others help me.”

Mark nodded. “I can agree to that.”

Jack grinned. “Good.”

And they continued to walk, enjoying the sunshine and fall air. 

 

Just as the sun was starting its descent behind the city, Mark pulled up across the street from Jack’s building. He parked the car, shut it off, and reached for some stuff in the back seat. Jack got out and went to the back of the car and popped open the trunk, grabbing a few grocery bags and some from random stores in the mall. They managed to get everything gathered, and after some struggling from Mark and laughing from Jack, they got the car locked and started to cross the street. 

As they stepped onto the sidewalk, the sound of squealing tires suddenly pierced the air. Flinching, both Mark and Jack turned towards the sound. 

At the end of the street, was a black car. Sleek and menacing, it spun its tires, white smoke billowing up behind it. The engine snarled, echoing off the surrounding buildings and making their ears ring. Mark gave the car a confused look then glanced at Jack.

He was white as a sheet. 

Jack’s face had paled considerably, and his eyes were huge. Obviously terrified, the Irishman was white-knuckling the bags he held.

Just as Mark went to ask him what was wrong, the car suddenly roared. Snapping his attention back to the car, Mark saw that it had shot forward. It was racing towards them at an alarming rate, and only getting faster. 

Not taking the time to second-guess the driver’s intentions, Mark whirled around and snatched Jack’s arm. Jack jumped, apparently lost in a state of fear. Without hesitation, Mark took off, pulling Jack along behind him. 

They sprinted up the stairs to the building’s doors, still clutching their bags. Mark let go of Jack’s arm only to pull the keys from his pocket, jam them in the lock, twist, and slam the door open. Abandoning the keys in the lock, Mark grabbed Jack again and bolted inside. 

Mark could still hear the car. He wasn’t sure if it was coming after them still, or if it had stopped. But it was there. 

Once Jack was safely inside, stumbling slightly from Mark’s quick and unexpected actions, Mark plucked the keys from the door and slammed it shut. 

_BLAM!_

With the door shut, the growling of the car was dulled, but still audible. Afraid the driver might come for them, Mark turned and raced for the stairs, briefly grabbing Jack’s shirt in order to get him moving in the right direction. 

In a matter of seconds, they were both in Jack’s apartment, with Mark slamming the door, locking it, and throwing down his bags. 

Shaking like a leaf in a spring gale, Jack set his bags down in the middle of the room. He was still incredibly pale. 

Mark darted around the apartment, locking windows and shutting blinds. It didn’t take very long, and before he knew it he found himself back in the living room/kitchen. Breathing hard and still on an adrenaline high, he looked around.

And he saw Jack. 

The poor guy was sitting on the arm of the couch, just staring at the floor. His eyes were glassy, jaw slack, shoulders slumped, and hands wrung. The color of milk, he didn’t seem to be breathing he was so still. 

Immediately worried, Mark rushed to his side and rested a hand on his shoulder, settling next to him on the arm of the couch. 

_He looks like he just saw Daryl. Was that Daryl? I didn’t get a good look at the driver’s face. Oh god if that was it’ll ruin Jack._

“Hey,” Mark said gently. “You alright?”

For a moment Jack didn’t say or do anything. Then he finally turned his head slightly towards Mark, yet he kept his eyes on the floor. He drew in a small breath and licked his lips. 

“I-It was the Audi,” he murmured, his voice quiet and clear. 

Mark furrowed his brow in confusion. “An Audi?”

Jack shook his head slightly. “No, it was _the_ Audi. The only one any of us owned. Not even X-” He flinched. “...Nate, had one. The only person who did though…”

He looked at Mark. 

“Was Jim.”

Mark tensed. 

Jim. The guy who T-boned them. The guy who brought Mark to X. The guy that sent Mark to the trap that was supposed to kill Jack. 

He was a whole pile of bad wrapped up in douchery and a facial scar. 

 

Dropping his hand from Jack’s shoulder, Mark shifted his gaze to the floor. “So, that was Jim?”

Jack nodded. “It had to be. He never let anyone even _breathe_ around his car. I’m positive it was him.”

Mark shook his head and looked at Jack. “I was sure we put him away.”

“Did you actually see him get slammed?”

“Well no. I was on probation at that point.”

At that, Jack shook his head. “Then they didn’t get him. He’s a pro at avoiding cops. He’s been on the run for years, and not once has he ever been arrested.”

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? What’d he do?”

“Shot up a bank about eight years ago. Killed four, stole three million.”

Letting out a scoff, Mark’s stomach churned in disgust. “That’s fucked up.”

 

Something in Jack’s face suddenly shifted, and he had to stifle a laugh. Mark gave him a questioning look. Jack waved him off and shook his head. 

“Sorry,” Jack started, chuckling just a tiny bit. “It’s just, you’re a detective, and that’s all you have to say? ‘That’s fucked up’? Really?”

Mark shrugged and grinned. “Hey, I’m not a detective at the moment. I’m just being myself, and that’s all myself has to say to that.” 

This time Jack laughed out-loud, and Mark’s grin got even bigger. 

 

As Jack’s laughter died down, Mark’s grin faded and his thoughts went sour. 

“What was Jim doing here?”

Jack too went serious, and he looked to the kitchen window, his eyes dark. “Best guess? He was probably looking for you.”

Mark raised a brow. “Me? Why not you?”

Jack scoffed and glanced at him. “Because he hates you. That’s all he talked about after he helped bring you in and Nate let you walk away. He kept saying over and over how if he ever got the chance he would make you pay for everything you ever did to us.”

Grimacing, Mark shook his head. “That’s not good.” He scratched his head before coming to a realization. “Does that mean he went by my place?”

Jack pursed his lips and nodded. “Most likely. He knows where you live, so I don’t doubt he checked there first.”

Mark gave a small nod. “And now he knows where you live too.”

“He’s always known where I live. That’s why he came here. He doesn’t give a shit about me, but he knows that you can’t resist helping me, so he checked here.”

Jack got up and went to the kitchen window, pulling back the blind in order to peek out into the street. After a second he shook his head and clicked his tongue.   
“Looks like he found ya too.”

“Ya think?” Mark grumbled sarcastically. Quick to see his “hunter”, Mark shot up and joined Jack in the kitchen. He gave the street a quick peek himself and saw the black Audi still parked there, lights and engine off. 

Jack took a step back and folded his arms, as if he was suddenly cold. 

“How long do you think he’ll sit there?” he asked, keeping his gaze on the window. 

Mark shrugged and let the blinds fall back into place before turning to face the Irishman. “Can’t say. Maybe another five minutes, maybe the rest of the night, he might even be there by noon tomorrow. But we can’t leave. Not until he’s gone.”

Jack nodded slowly. _If Jim stays here for that long, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll tell Daryl where I am. If he hasn’t already. Which he probably will, just to get back at Mark._ He let out a sigh, lost in thought. _I’ll have to move sooner than I expected. I’ll have to leave my friends at the Underground. I’ll have to leave Mark…_

“Jack?”

Jumping slightly, Jack looked to Mark, who was giving him a concerned stare. 

“You okay? You kinda spaced out for a second there.”

Jack nodded quickly, waving off Mark’s concern. “Yeah, just tired is all.”

Mark grinned and went for the grocery bags still sitting on the floor. 

“Well in that case, why don’t you go get into some comfortable clothes and I’ll put these away. Then we can start on dinner.”

Immediately Jack went to protest, yet he stopped. He was too tired, too drained to fight off Mark’s good tidings. Instead, he simply nodded, ran his fingers through his brown hair, and retreated to his bedroom.

 

Once inside, he closed the door and just stood in the semi-darkness. He listened as Mark moved around, rustling the bags and setting stuff on the counters. With a strange sense of sudden numbness coursing through him, he shuffled over to his bed and sunk onto it. 

For a moment he just sat there, staring at nothing. 

And then he began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long! My goal was to have it out by Christmas, but that didn't happen. 
> 
> ~Cal


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where would you like to sleep? Anywhere’s fine.”
> 
> “The couch is fine thanks.”

Mark had put all the groceries away and pulled out some stuff for dinner by the time night fell over the city. Some chicken and broccoli, with a bit of white rice. Nice and simple.

As he pulled out a pan, he glanced towards Jack’s room. _He’s been awfully quiet. I know I’ve been bothering him a lot lately, and I should probably just let him be. But…_

Going against his better judgment, Mark set down the pan and made his way down the hall. When he reached Jack’s bedroom door, he stopped and listened, trying to pick up any sound coming from the other side of the closed door.

All was quiet.

Rapping his knuckles lightly against the wood, Mark called out to the Irishman.

“Jack? Everything alright?”

There was a rustle, and then the door was slowly pulled open. Mark took a step back and waited.

Jack stood there, just slightly leaning against the door. He had changed into baggy sweatpants and a sweatshirt. His hair was slightly tousled, and his eyes were red.

_Has he been crying?_

Mark offered a small smile. “Hey, you doin’ okay?”

Jack scoffed and rubbed one of his eyes. “Could be better, but I’m alright.”

Giving him a raised brow, Mark crossed his arms. “Maybe you should go to bed.”

Shrugging, Jack brushed past him and shuffled into the kitchen, his socked feet silent.

Mark shook his head and followed him. “I was just getting started on dinner.”

Reaching for a glass from the cupboard, Jack made a small noise of acknowledgment. “Alright, I’ll help. Keep my mind off things.” He went to the sink and filled his glass with water before gulping down half of it.

Watching him from the corner of his eye, Mark went back to the food. “Chicken sound okay?”

“Yep.”

Mark watched the Irishman as he finished off his water and set the glass in the sink to be cleaned later.

 

He may be a detective, but a personal psychiatrist he was not. Mark had no idea how to help Jack cope with what he’d been through, except to be there for him. Perhaps a psychiatrist was what he needed. In the near future, he might suggest such treatment. But Jack might not take to such a proposition. It could be difficult to make the Irishman go to any meetings.

Mark tossed some butter into the pan as he clicked the burner to life. While the blue flame puffed into existence, Jack took a peek out the window onto the street.

“He’s still there.”

Leaving the pan unattended, Mark joined the Irishman at the window. As he looked down into the street, he saw the sleek Audi still parked on the curb. An orange glow pulsed in the driver’s window, then faded. A cigarette.

A cloud of smoke trailed out the car window as Jack spoke again.

“Do you think he told Daryl?”

Mark gave him a sideways glance and shook his head. “I don’t know. Doesn’t Daryl already know where you live?”

Jack shook his head. “Not that I know of. The only ones that should have known were Nate and Jim. Nate assigned this place to me while Jim showed me around.”

At the mention of Jim’s almost neighborly act towards Jack, Mark suspected there might have been some history between the two. Or he was just reading too much into it, and Jim was simply assigned to the task. Or his detective’s intuition was right once again.

Letting his flurry of questions fade, Mark turned back to the task of making dinner. The butter was melted, so he tore open the plastic wrap on the chicken and laid the slimy breasts in the pan.

As the meat began to sizzle and pop, Mark seasoned it and covered it with a lid he managed to find. Eventually, Jack came over from the window and went to the refrigerator.

 

Jack’s kitchen was very small, and Mark discovered this quickly. As he tried to get the rice rinsed and cooking, Jack was trying to start the broccoli. They constantly bumped elbows, brushed against each other they as they moved back and forth, and apologized for the unintended touching.

At one point they even went for the same fork; Jack intending to use it for the rice while Mark wanted to flip the chicken. Their hands overlapped, and they froze. Mark quickly looked at Jack’s face to find him wide-eyed and immediately pulling his hand from beneath Mark’s.

“Sorry,” the Irishman murmured as he quickly pulled open a drawer and rummaged for another fork.

“It’s okay.” Mark gingerly picked up the cause of awkwardness and mindlessly checked the meat. “Should I set the table?”

“Nah.” Jack stirred the rice and turned off the burner. “We can eat in the living room. There’s this movie I recorded, and I really want to watch it.”

“Oh yeah?” Mark was surprised. With everything that had happened and was happening, watching a movie seemed extremely normal and lax. But perhaps that what Jack needed. Normal. Just easy things that could get his train-of-thought away from Daryl and everything else. “What’s it about?”

“It’s a horror movie. It’s based on a book I read and loved about this dude that is a werewolf but also a cop. The book was really gory and awesome, so I'm hoping the movie is too.”

“Huh. Sounds pretty cool.”

“Yeah, I'm really hoping the movie is just as good,” Jack replied. “The previews looked like it was going to be something that really made your stomach churn.”

“Alright then,” Mark said with a smile, actually curious now. “Let's give this bad boy a go.”

 

A few hours later, as the credits were rolling and two empty plates sat on the coffee table, Mark and Jack each let out a breath neither were aware they were holding.

“Holy. Shit.” Mark groaned and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, leaning back against the couch to stretch his spine.

Jack wiped his hands on his sweatpants and quickly stood up.

“All the doors and stuff are locked right?”

Mark sat up and blinked a few times. “Yep. But I doubt it'll keep that rosy bastard out.”

“Don't say that!” Jack shuddered and picked up their empty plates. “I have enough to worry about already, I don't need a crazy serial killer too,” he joked. He walked back into the kitchen to clean up.

Mark shook his head with a smile and rose to help him. “He is dead though so maybe we have nothing to worry about.”

Jack shook his head as he set the plates in the sink. “Still won’t stop me from worrying about it,” he said with a laugh.

Once the task of cleaning up dinner was done, Jack went to the fridge and pulled out a beer. As he was twisting the cap off, Mark strode to the window and looked out into the street.

The Audi, sleek and dark even among the streetlights, still sat in the street, although the driver wasn't visible. Yet in Mark's gut, he knew Jim was still there. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was 11:34, meaning Jim had been there at least four hours.

_This guy just doesn't give up._

Yawning, he turned back to Jack, only to find him missing. Looking around, he noticed Jack wasn't in the living room either. Then he heard the toilet flush and the small bit of worry that had been building faded.

_Relax you moron. No need to lose your shit every time he's out of sight._

Jack emerged from the bathroom, suddenly very tired-looking. He rubbed at one eye and yawned.

“Is he gone yet?”

Mark shook his head and leaned on the counter. “Nope. Still sittin’ out there.”

Taking a final swig from his beer, Jack tossed the empty bottle in the trash. “Well, in that case, you could stay here for the night, and if he's still here by morning we could sneak out the back.”

Not wanting to try and push himself while exhausted Mark agreed.

Jack walked to his room, glancing over his shoulder at Mark. “Where would you like to sleep? Anywhere’s fine.”

For a brief, fleeting second, Mark's brain said _‘in the bed with you’_ , but he knew instantly that wouldn't be acceptable.

“The couch is fine thanks.”

 

Jack nodded and went into his room, coming out a second later with a pillow and some blankets.

Handing the items to Mark, he refused to make eye contact with the detective. “Here ya go. It does tend to get a little cold out here, the heater isn't that great.”

“Right, thanks.”

“I'm gonna go to bed, but if you need anything,” Jack finally met Mark's eyes with his own briefly. “Just let me know.”

Before Mark could reply, the Irishman quickly turned away and retreated to his room, turning off lights as he went.

 

Once in his bedroom, Jack quickly yet softly shut the door. After a moment's pause, he let out a breath, turning to rest his back against the wood.

_What am I doing? I can't keep him here, it'll only put him in danger. And it just… it just confuses me. The things he does, the things he says…_

Jack's eyes fell to his bed, still disheveled from last night. Where he slept fully for the first time in days. With Mark.

With a fierce shake of his head, Jack pushed away from the door and went to the window. He peeked out into the street as he felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up the back of his neck.

_I can't… I can't think like that. He was just helping. It didn't mean anything. I can't **let** it mean anything. Mark and I, we could never…_

Jack left the window and flopped face-down on his bed.

_We could never be together._

There was no way. Absolutely no way. Sure they'd been through a lot together but…

_I could never look at him and not think about what happened. What brought us together. That… That would be too painful._

All the terrible things: the lies, the pain, the torture, the endless feeling of hopelessness. And Daryl. God Daryl. All the terrifying almosts, the “lessons", what he did…

Plus there was also what he did to Mark. He nearly killed him, with that stupid fucking drug. All because of Jack himself, of his weakness in depending on others.

Jack couldn't stop the tears that welled up behind his closed eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Instead, he clambered up to the head of the bed and burrowed under his covers. In the complete darkness of his blankets, he found himself suddenly surrounded by Mark's scent. Apparently, the detective had a fresh layer of cologne on when he arrived last night.

For a moment Jack pondered if he should just sleep on the floor. This smell would be too distracting, right?

But it seemed he was wrong. The clean, almost earthy scent drifted around him like a cloud of Sandman’s dust, and he found himself quickly nodding off. Floating in that wonderful haze right before a deep sleep, Jack couldn't help but picture Mark's sleepy face from that morning. Before he even knew it, he was fast asleep, curled up under the covers and clutching his pillow.

 

Mark sat on the couch, just staring into the semi-darkness around him. He'd turned off all the lights and made up his bed, yet he still didn't feel enough at ease to fall asleep.

Jim was still outside. Jack was obviously not as fine as he let on. Daryl was on the loose. And Mark's heart was all over the place.

He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.

“Maybe if I lay down…,” he murmured. Mark picked his legs up and brought them onto the couch while lifting the blanket and tucking them in. He pulled the blanket up to his waist and laid down. Nestling his head into the surprisingly soft pillow, he let out another heavy breath as he stared at the reflection of the street lights off the TV.

As he settled into the somewhat hard couch, he tried to relax. Deep breaths, counting sheep, anything to help him fall asleep. Yet as Mark imagined fluffy sheep, they suddenly took on monstrous, twisted versions of Daryl and Jim's faces, grinning madly while their eyes glowed red.

Sitting up quickly, Mark shook his head and threw off the blanket.

_No more sheep. Nope, don't need that nightmare._

Rising to his feet, he shuffled into the kitchen and got himself a cup of water. Taking a sip, his thoughts suddenly turned to Jack. Was he sleeping okay? Was he even sleeping at all?

Unable to get those thoughts settled, Mark quietly tiptoed to Jack's door. He simply stood there, listening.

It was completely silent. For a moment Mark became worried. Then a soft snore echoed through the door, and Mark’s heart calmed.

_He’s fast asleep_ , Mark thought as he listened to Jack’s breathing. _That’s good. Hopefully, another full night’s rest will make him more motivated to get back on track._

Taking another sip of his water Mark made his way back into the living room. Sitting back down on the couch, he set his glass on the coffee table.

Just sitting there for a moment, he stared at nothing while he tried to calm his racing thoughts and churning stomach.

_Daryl won’t make a move while the media is still fresh. Jim obviously doesn't necessarily care, seeing as he hardly got any media attention. His wanted poster has been all over the city for years. With Nate locked away, as well as most of the other gang members, those two could very well be on their own. But what worries me there, is outside help. Could they have connections amongst other dangerous groups in the city? Most definitely. But would they go to them for help? It could be taken as a sign of weakness, and seeing an opportunity to wipe out some competition, those connections might just wipe them out. But would those thugs then come after Jack in an attempt to wipe out the remaining members?_

Mark wrung his hands together and blinked a few times, coming out of his trance. Letting out a heavy sigh, he leaned back against the couch, his head falling against the back. _And what of Jack now? I fear he's much worse then he lets on, and from what I know about him so far, he'll refuse to see somebody._

Closing his eyes, Mark tried to think of what he could do to help Jack's mental and emotional stability. He knew hanging around might get old, and Jack could start to get frustrated, angry even. But staying away too long might not be productive either, seeing how he could easily get lonely and depressed, not to mention terrified of who might try and get him once he’s alone.

_It's all so complicated_ , Mark thought. _I want to help him, but how? Be there for him? Not be there for him? Christ, why can't there be a specific manual for this kind of shit? 'How To Deal With a Friend Whose Been Through Torture: For Dummies.'_

As he sat there fuming, the sound of rain pitter-pattering on the roof suddenly started out of nowhere. It grew louder and louder until it seemed to fill the entire apartment. Sitting there amongst nature's applause, Mark opened his eyes and lifted his head.

_Odd_ , he thought as he stood and made his way towards the nearest window. _There were no clouds earlier, and no mention of it in the forecast. Where did this come from?_

Pulling back the curtain, Mark peered out into the night.

A sheet of rain poured over the city, lights glowing in the falling drops. The street was already slick and shimmering, and the storm drains were rushing the copious amounts of water away. An occasional gust of wind would hurry the drops into a slanting descent before receding away, only to come back a moment later, pushing the falling rain once more into a punishing downpour.

Mark scanned the area outside, taking in the drenched city. A low rumble of thunder echoed from the clouds, making the detective jump. Not a second later a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, forcing Mark to drop the curtain and take a step back.

This storm came out of nowhere, he thought as a deep-pitted feeling of dread settled in his stomach. He wasn't one for signs and foreboding occurrences, and he certainly wasn't superstitious.

But if there was to be some sort of answer to his problems, some sign from the heavens about what was to come, this certainly felt like one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll, sorry this took for fuckin ever. Had some personal shit go down, and writing was put on the back burner for a while. 
> 
> ~Cal

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! :3


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